Some time later, I remember my parents explaining my mixed heritage to me: that I should be proud of my African-American father’s culture, as well as my mother’s Puerto Rican background. That I was lucky, because I had the best of two worlds. And for a long time, it felt that way. Visits to my grandparents in the Bronx meant pasteles, salsa, and my loud but lovable family members. My father’s parents took my younger sister and me to different cultural events in Baltimore and taught me about African-American literature. Back then it was always just fun. Having two different backgrounds didn’t make much of a difference to me.
Also Enjoy: Growing Up Biracial
